Hey, lady Smutters. Who’s in the mood for Friday fun? How about an excerpt from my next novella, Shakedown, which will launch the brand, spanking new series, The Shakedown Series. Like motorcycle club reads? Gangsters? Cons? Burlesque? This series will have All Of That and more. Read on for an excerpt of Shakedown.

~~Sexy Excerpt~~

Rachel’s Uber driver had looked at her like she was crazy when she gave him the address to Shakedown. He asked her twice if he should wait for her when she stepped out of his minivan onto the crumbling pavement of the club’s parking lot. Over an old warehouse, an obnoxiously large sign lit up by Broadway lights read Shakedown.

Against her better judgment, she was here—at the club Trick insisted was not a strip joint. She didn’t know how long this confrontation would take so she sent the driver on his way. She charged up to the door powered by the tornado that had been whirling inside her over the last few days. In fact, her anger had grown into an F5. She’d emptied her mental warehouse of stop signs. Every time she’d raised one up, she punched it back down. It was time for Trick to make restitution and return the trust fund that she and Jay were to use for school.

Old movie poster shadow boxes were tacked to the brick walls by the entrance. She took a moment to look at the depictions of dancing girls and Vaudeville acts behind the scratched glass. Not a strip club, huh?

Rachel slung open the door and stepped into the blackness. The large, glass front door hadn’t been easy to yank open, but that was the thing about rage—it gave you strength. She paused just inside the empty club to let her eyes adjust. As the interior’s details crystallized, her first thought was that she’d stepped onto a movie set.

“Well, this is way nicer than I imagined,” she muttered. White tablecloths draped dozens of small tables crammed into the center of the room. Half moon–shaped booths in dark green, tufted velvet lined the far left wall. A long, polished oak bar with a brass rail ran the length of the club to her right.

“Applications are at the end of the bar. Auditions start tomorrow.”

She turned. A man with a goatee, a scar riding high on his right cheek, and poured into a gray Henley leaned on the bar over a newspaper spread across the surface. The paper crackled as he turned a page.

“Audition? No, I’m looking for Trick Masters.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”

She crossed her arms. “The woman he stole three million dollars from.”

The man straightened and laughed. “I’ll get him for you, Rachel.”

“How did you know my name?”

“He said if the most beautiful woman in the world walks in and demands money her name is Rachel.”

Great. So Trick believed she was a foregone conclusion? Think again, buddy.

While the guy ducked behind a curtain near the bar, ostensibly to find Trick, she pulled out her cell phone to see if Jay had returned any of the dozen messages she’d left in the last two days. He hadn’t.

She hit his number again and again went straight to voice mail. “Jay, are you ever going to call me back? The Betrayer is in Baltimore. Don’t they ever let you make calls? A text at least?”

Jay’s oil rig tour had to be up soon. Nothing like having your trust fund-slash-tuition money disappear to make you take any job that pays well. Too bad waitressing at the fanciest restaurant in Baltimore didn’t turn out as well for her.

She looked around the room. “And, you will not believe where I am,” she said into the silence on the other end of the phone. Jay needed to come back and see where Trick—once the darling of the Washington, D.C. investment scene—had landed—for shits, grins, and giggles if nothing else. She shook her head as she took in the stage framed in heavy, red velvet drapes, empty except for a tall microphone stand in the center. Lights aimed at the stage hung from girders in the ceiling. At least no dance cages or stripper poles were in view, and the scent of orange blossoms and cedar wafted in the air rather than the usual stale beer and sweat smell of most “gentleman’s clubs”—or what she’d imagined they’d smelled like. A rustling behind her caused her to kill the one-sided call.

“Rachel.”

Stupid shivers ran up her spine from hearing Trick’s baritone. She swiveled to come face to face with the man, the Betrayer, ready to do battle, something she should have done long ago. Hell, she should have started the day he left the courtroom in handcuffs. Instead, she’d hidden in the back, watching and crying like a baby. No more tears now, she told herself. She put as much steel into her backbone as possible. “How dare you offer me a job.”

He had the nerve to raise an eyebrow. “Pretty generous on my part, I’d say.”

“Generous?” She chuffed. “You stole my money and then want me to work for it? You humiliated me once. You won’t do it again.” She strode forward until there were just six inches between them and jabbed her finger on his hard pec. “How did you find me anyway?”

No way was Trick’s presence at Talman’s a coincidence. Trick did nothing accidentally.

She didn’t know how he found her as she and Jay had changed their mobile phone numbers and left no forwarding address when they fled Washington and their creditors. Then, when she thought she couldn’t be shamed anymore, Trick Masters shows up at Talman’s, gets her demoted to hostess and has the unbelievable nerve to offer her a job. Did he expect her to work to get back the money he stole? He accused her of being afraid. Afraid my ass. She jabbed him with her finger again for good measure.

He grabbed her wrist. “Since you can’t stop touching me,” he said, cocking his head, “let’s make this private. Office.”

“Office?” she sputtered as he pulled her into a long hallway, plush carpeting muffling their footfalls.

“Desk and everything.” He opened a door and gestured her inside.

“Nice digs.” She surveyed the large mahogany desk and oil paintings on the wall. “This Oriental carpet real? Probably. You can obviously afford to pay restitution.”

He closed the door behind them, strode to his desk and perched on the edge. “I was wrongly convicted. I don’t have your money. I never did.” He scratched his chin, the sound of fingers on stubble sounding masculine, if such a thing were possible.

“Bullshit.” She stepped closer and slapped him on the pec. He still wore that woodsy aftershave. Damn, he smelled good, which she should not be noticing.

He gave a snort of cynical amusement. “Stop poking me. Try being a grownup.” He grasped her wrist—hard.

“You find this funny? Screw you.”

“If you are offering, I might consider it. You always did excel in that area.”

She did a double take. “Forget about it.”

“Gladly. I make a habit of avoiding women who set me up and then abandon me, sweetheart.” He stood, and his grip turned vicious, backing her up a step.

“Abandon you? You were convicted of embezzlement and sentenced to jail, and don’t call me sweetheart.”

“I told you I didn’t take your money.” He backed her up until her shoulder blades pressed the door.

“A judge felt otherwise.”

“I was set up, but you already know all that.”

“Ha! And you say I’m good at fantasy. Who took it then? The fairies?” She jabbed him with her other hand. He grasped that wrist, and lifted both her arms above her head, not gently, but not enough to leave bruises.

“Stop jabbing me. Or perhaps you’re doing it on purpose simply to make me mad. You always did like make-up sex.” He leaned toward her so close she could feel his warm breath on her face, smell his woodsy cologne.

“Coming on to me?” She tried to yank her wrists free but he held them fast.

“You almost put me out on the street. Proud of that?” she spat. Memories flooded her brain and swamped her with a cocktail of emotions she’d been working for years to neutralize. Weeks after Trick’s incarceration for embezzlement, the fancy apartment she and Trick shared overlooking the Potomac was the first to go. The same week, with no tuition money, she’d had to leave school—in her freakin’ fourth year! The Audi he’d given her? Ha! Not paid off. If she thought getting a bikini wax humiliating, the degradation bar undoubtedly had been raised the day her car was lifted up onto a flatbed tow truck, a man with a substantial pot belly leering at her and mumbling tough break, lady.

“I’m sorry your life went to hell, Princess,” he said. “But prison isn’t exactly the Four Seasons.”

“Did you think about me in jail?” she taunted. She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his calf. She rubbed it up and down. “Or did you get a new boyfriend there?”

He’d once called her legs God’s gift to mankind. She’d get the truth out of him one way or the other, even if she had to use herself as bait. She wasn’t leaving until he confessed he’d taken the $3 million.

“I hocked your ring, by the way,” she said.

“Get a good price?”

“The diamond was real. Paid rent for a bit.”

“Everything I ever gave you was real, Rachel.” He ground his pelvis into hers, his cock growing harder and thicker.

“Real trouble.”

He stared at her mouth as if he were mesmerized, like he couldn’t decide what to do next. He used to do that when he was about to kiss her.

“See something you like?” she breathed with a sneer. He scowled when she pulled him closer to her with her leg. One thing about waitressing, it built strong leg muscles.

“You wish,” he circled his pelvis to match her moving hips.

Jesus, she was getting wet, and her hips would not stay still. Well, she started this, and she wasn’t a quitter. She glided her leg higher on his hip. The perfect fit of their bodies felt good—too damned good. Man, it’d been a long time since she’d had sex.

He pulled his head back and stared down at her. Suspicion flashed across his eyes.

“Now who’s afraid?” she asked.

His lips came down on hers—hard and possessive. His tongue mapped her mouth with the ease of an explorer upon familiar territory. Oh, God, she’d forgotten how good he was at this, but she had to remember. She was kissing a con man.

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary romance that dares to “go there.” Expect alpha males (and females), seductive encounters, and love. Learn more about her steamy and sexy stories by following her on Amazon and Bookbub.

Not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. Wealthy Washington, D.C. corporate attorney and seasoned Dominant, Carson Drake is the master of the romantic pre-emptive strike—until he runs into his PR consultant, London, in a BDSM club where she tests every assumption he’s ever had about love.

~~~Excerpt~~~

Every candle in Carson’s room was lit, over two dozen pillars similar to the ones he’d used in a demonstration he’d given at Club Accendos months ago. The young girls giggled and screamed as their partners dripped hot wax on their bellies and breasts. No one got burned or hurt. The sensation play simply brought out their innate melodrama. He’d been bored to tears. Right now nothing interested him more.

After laying London down on the table, he took a moment to admire the wisps of caramel and chocolate strands by her cheeks, her ponytail dripping over the edge of the table.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No.” She shifted and the plastic crinkled underneath the sheet. “I’m fine.”

Carson freed his belt from her waist. A loud clank when it hit the floor made her startle.

He picked up a bottle of oil and snapped open the top. After filling his palm with the lubricant, he spread it over London’s stomach. He moved to her breasts, kneading and then pinching her raspberry nipples. Her back arched into his hands, and her hands grew white from fisting the sheets by her side.

After attending to her arms and hands, he poured more oil over her pussy. He made sure every hair was coated in the emollient. He wasn’t in the business of giving bikini waxes. Soon her thighs, calves and feet wore an oily sheen illuminated by the candles. She glowed like a marble sculpture—if it wasn’t for her constant wiggling.

“Relax.” He massaged her feet, pulling on each toe and massaging her arch. Finally her hands unclenched their hold on the sheet and splayed open.

He tipped a few teaspoons of melted wax from one of the candles into his hand. “Tell me if this burns.” He spread the warmth over her greased belly.

She inhaled sharply and her hands darted up and then settled back down.

“London?”

“Not burning . . .” He could tell she squeezed her eyes tighter under the blindfold.

The wax grew tacky under his palm. More gasps came from her throat as he dribbled a large drop from the candle onto her arm. Her hands jumped from the sheet only to float back down.

“Shh, feel it.” He grasped her wrist and angled it away from her body. “Palms up. Don’t move.” He picked up two pillar candles, one in each hand. “No matter what, London.”

Carson tipped both candles over her wrist. Her fingers danced as the drippings made contact and she gasped. “Oh!” A wax line formed, the edges pooling on the sheet.

“You are being cuffed to the table with wax. If you break these restraints, I’ll find something stronger.”

She curled her fingers as if she tested the bond.

“Confirm.”

“I-I won’t break them.”

He streamed more wax until she wore a thin manacle on her wrist. The bond barely covered her skin. If she was the submissive he believed, she’d feel it like an iron chain.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said.

She sent her other arm out, away from her body as if ready for the same treatment. Her acceptance of his handling made his groin tighten in anticipation.

He secured the other wrist with a waxy shackle. But her legs would require more than candle drippings. In addition to the soy candles, he’d warmed his largest block of paraffin in a crock pot. If his mother knew what he did with her Christmas gift, she’d lose her final hope of him ever being domesticated.

He dipped a ladle into the wax bath and continued until her ankles wore similar restraints to her wrists. Now cuffed by wax chains, spread wide, he stepped back to admire London’s captivity. A small smile played on her lips, finally relaxed. Finally giving into the inevitable.

Carson picked up a small paintbrush and dipped it into the pot. He painted a thin layer of wax over one nipple. She arched and sighed under the sensation. He then took one of the larger candles, and holding it high, let a long stream flow over her breast. She cried out and flinched. One hand broke through its cuff.

Her forehead furrowed. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “That’s the point.”

She returned his laughter, but quickly swallowed it back. “Carson? I won’t do it again.”

He touched her arm. “Of course you won’t.”

After he secured her wrist with more wax, her fingers quivered. Tension in her belly returned, perhaps fighting to lift herself toward him? Her pussy glistened, and not from oil, but from growing arousal. London enjoyed being handled, he thought. He mentally added the sentiment to London’s List.

She balled her fists. The thin shackles didn’t crack. He spilled more melted candle onto her waiting body. A seal formed over her breast from drizzling wax, spiral-fashion.

“This is the only white you should wear.”

He turned to the paraffin wax bath and scooped out a full dipper of the mix. With one long stream, he drew small circles around her other breast. A coiled cap formed over her flesh. She squirmed under the liquid heat, soft moans escaping her lips. More candle drippings formed waxy rivers and tributaries over her belly and her hips. Her skin reddened around the waxy parts from the stimulation and heat.

He traded candles. He’d empty one of its liquid while allowing the others to burn down more, creating their own small pools of melted warmth. Large sections cooled to semi-hardness. Unable to stay motionless any longer, her back arched with each new stream that met her skin. Wax separated and cracked, except for the thin shackles securing her wrists. She balled her fists, as if willing them to stay intact.

By the time he’d moved to her legs, she took in big gulps of air. A light sheen had formed over her upper lip and forehead. He ran one long line of warm melted candlewax down one thigh to her knee.

When he crossed her low belly with a large spill of wax, she squealed. Her hands threatened to dart upward. Her manacles barely held. But she stopped herself from completely freeing her wrists and ankles.

His belly clenched. London, the woman who fought his every move in meetings, argued every word from his mouth, now fought to honor his control. The shields London had erected to deny her desires had begun to fall away.

Here’s an excerpt from WICKED APPRENTICE, Book One in the Wicked Magic Series.

Prin has captured a “uncanny creature” and brought him back to her mistress’s castle. She did it under orders, not knowing what the sorceress Hulgetta planned to do with the gorgeous, tall stranger and his pointy ears. Yet as she notices how his eyes change from black to green and back again, she starts experiencing strange feelings–feelings that begin to challenge her obsession with learning magic. She suddenly wants to know more about her prisoner–she wants to know him intimately.

“They all called you Prin,” he said at last.

“Yes.” He wasn’t going to mention how they behaved. Thank you. She took a bigger breath.

“That’s… an odd name.” His Berbainwick was strangely accented, his words all stretched out instead of clipped off. He kind of gargled them sometimes at the back of the throat. To her ears the language had never sounded half so charming before.

“It’s a nickname,” she explained, and then stopped, not willing to explain more. Touchy ground here.

“What does it stand for?” he asked. His voice was lilting and gentle, another tone entirely from before. “Princess?”

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Prin replied. In fact, it was an abbreviation for ‘apprentice’ and a way of making fun of Hulgetta’s speech. She wasn’t going to tell him that, of course. Everything about him was gentle and refined. She kinda wanted to muss him up a little bit.

“I said nothing to them at all.” He looked puzzled.

She wrinkled her nose. “Never mind.”

“You are a princess then?” he said. He asked her a question in a language she didn’t understand. She looked down at her calloused fingertips and didn’t reply. Let him think what he liked. The silence stretched on. She looked up and his attractiveness hit her again like a physical blow.

His eyes had gone dark again, and he was a vision of sensitive torment. She felt herself involuntarily reaching towards him. Then, alas, the eyes changed back, and she regained a modicum of self-control. She stood up and paced around the cell, her heart still thudding about inside her chest.

“It’s not poisoned or tainted,” she said. “I freshened it with herbs myself. See?” She drank from the cup and then held it out to him to show him the sage leaves and borage blossoms. “Perfectly safe.” He took a tentative sip on his own, letting her hold the cup for him. The feel of his fingers sliding over hers. Her eyes widened, but he moved abruptly, pulling the cup away. As if he didn’t want to touch her.

“Thank you,” he said, not looking at her. Then he must have changed his mind about something. He looked up at her again, his eyes flickering black. “I thank you,” he said, this time with a tone of grave respect.

“You’re welcome,” she said, using the same formal tone. And did you know you’re smoking hot?

Lying there pliant, helpless, and half naked, he was so scrumptious her body itched to crawl on top of him. Moreover, all her fairy dust was up and screaming for him, and that just never happened to her with a guy. Ever.

She put the tumbler back on the wooden tray with the pitcher and stood there twisting her fingers up in her skirt. Nervous. Her mind strained for something to say. Her body looked for another excuse to bend over near him and reveal her cleavage. Get a grip, woman.

“And what are you called?” she asked, forbidding her fingers to play with her braids. The traitorous fingers took to the lacings on her corset instead, and she bit her lips a little to make them red. Where was her apprentice side? The scholarly side that wanted to learn? Pathetic.

“Princess, help me,” he whispered.

How was she ever going to refuse him anything when his eyes were all big and noble, yet softly luminous? She had felt loyal to Hulgetta. ‘Had’ being the operative word. Her loyalty was wobbling, big time. This was so wrong.

“Are you okay?” she said, filled with dread and concern. She leaned over the bed and put her hand on his brow again. Yes. It was warm now. She felt his cheek. It was hot. Spell all gone. Reluctantly, she took her hand away.

“Can you move your legs?”

He took her hand again and placed it back on his cheek, his lips parting a little. She went a little gooey and just stared at him, unable to think or move. He took that hand and kissed it.

“Help me escape.”

She stood up straight, breathless. Whoa. There it was. Bright needle-thin fear suddenly pierced the bubble.

Ten days to the RT Booklovers Convention and days of splendiferous fun with loads and loads of romance authors and readers and books and parties and happy hours and general abundant good times. If you’re going, be sure to make a space on your calendar for the second coming of Never Have I Ever, Ever, hosted by my learned colleagues.

If you’re not going, hey, don’t sweat it. I’m not going, either. I expect to have my hands full right here.

Last year, I had some friends drop by to hang out on a fainting couch that wasn’t big enough for all five of us. If I were at RT with my friends and the couch, you and I would have had to have The Chat about how I’m not sharing and you need to bring your own friends. All that is easier to navigate if we’re each at home with our own couches, away from prying eyes.

But certainly it won’t take you all of ten days to get your calendar done or to get your own couch with your own friends. Honestly, some of you overachievers might manage to do both in ten days. What are you going to do with the extra time?

How about a trip to the beach? I can get you there and back in no time. You won’t even have to park. And this time you won’t have to bring your own friends. In my novella, Passing Through, you’ll get a whole summer with a very hot, very obedient Army Ranger, and you’ll be home in time for dinner.

You want to see a blurb?

The summer’s brought two surprises to bar owner Gigi Dean: the former Army Ranger she hired is the perfect barback, and he takes orders in bed as well as he does on the job. She swore long ago never to let a man come between her and her business, so pursuing the powerful attraction to her employee is a definite no-no. But how long can she resist the desire to put this alpha male on his knees?

Noah Monroe’s told his boss that he’s just passing through on the way to a more permanent job. He hasn’t told her that his hunger for her keeps him awake at night. He won’t have more than this summer with the gorgeous woman who is his perfect match. Can he coax her into his arms for a summer fling? Or will acting on instinct cost him everything he’s begun to love?

Sound inappropriate? Good. That’s my specialty. But don’t worry. Ever the responsible boss, Gigi has a conversation with her best employee right after their first night together. When Noah drives her home that night, she takes the opportunity to have that conversation again. Just so everyone knows where they stand. Or sit. Or lie down.

Check it out.

***

Driving home after work bothered Noah for reasons he used to have trouble naming. The traffic-clotted madness that marked his drive to the bar didn’t faze him. At rush hour, he was surrounded by people on their own missions, trying to get home or stop for groceries or meet friends for the evening. Late at night, he had the road to himself.

Not having all those people to pay attention to should have made things easier, but the empty streets pushed his senses to high alert. After a few weeks of making that late-night drive, he realized that part of him was looking for people. That side of him wasn’t nearly as hypervigilant as it used to be, but the quiet still bothered him.

Tonight, his boss’s directions provided just the right distraction. She led him deeper and deeper into the suburbs, away from the water and the highways lined with strip malls and hotels. Trees gave shelter to narrow drives, and petite houses lay in darkness. People envisioned this sort of place when they talked about settling down with a family.

“Nice neighborhood,” he said.

“This is where I grew up. Used to ride a bike up this very street.” She pointed out the open window. “Fell out of that oak tree once. Next right.”
As he made the turn, he caught her wistful grin. She had more stories to tell about growing up here. This had been the place she’d learned to drive a car. This was where she’d done homework. Daydreamed about a boy who would one day take her to prom. Her parents had left her with more than a business. She had a history in this neighborhood. She had a whole life with roots growing down deep in this place.

She had a home. Something stable to protect from transient barbacks passing through town.

Something inside him twisted painfully, but he willed the ache away. Whose fault was it that he didn’t have what she needed in her life? His whole history fit in the back of the truck with room to spare. He chose that for himself, connecting only with what lay inside his arm’s reach. Able to move and start over whenever he liked.

Her home and history still called to him, and the need to answer pulsed in his veins. When the time came, it would take all his strength to go.
She pointed at a farmhouse on the right. “There it is.”

He pulled into her driveway and coasted beneath the boughs of a tree to her carport. The ancient transmission clunked when he put the truck in park, and they turned to face each other as the engine gurgled.

They watched each other in silence for a few seconds. Years ago, a teenage Gigi would have looked across the front seat at some hormone-plagued boy, wondering if he would kiss her.

Noah chuckled. Who was he kidding? If this woman wanted to be kissed, no way she was going to sit there with her fingers crossed, waiting for it.

“Something funny, Monroe?”

“Just thinking, boss.”

She rooted deep inside her purse before pulling out her keys with a jingling flourish. “I’ll call Heather in the morning, I guess.” She glanced down at his lap briefly before her gaze skittered to the gearshift.

Damn if he was going to make this easy for her.

“I can pick you up if you want. You know, if you want to make a run on the way in.”

Her tempting lips pursed as she shook her head. “No, no. Heather has to be up early anyway, and she has the supply list.”

He tried without success to keep from smiling. Was she even going to thank him? “If you say so, boss.”

A breeze tickled the branches overhead, making them sigh. She’d probably sit here all night rather than ask him for anything. But she wanted to. She wouldn’t still be sitting here, her knee up on the bench seat, if she didn’t want something.

“You have a second to come in?” Her voice lacked a little of the steel she used at work, and for an instant, he wondered if he was wrong about the teenage Gigi, waiting on the passenger seat.

He turned off the engine and the truck shuddered to rest. “Yeah, I have a second.”

* * *

Gigi shut the door behind them and leaned against it. Noah waited for her in the living room. The hodgepodge of furniture, most of which her parents had left behind on their way to retirement, looked small and insubstantial around him. He towered over the coffee table like a giant.

Her giant.

She shook off the thought and jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the kitchen. “Want anything?”

He smiled and sat down on her couch. “I’m good,” he said.

She opened her refrigerator and stood in the chilly air, acutely aware of the heat of his gaze on her back. She’d invited him in to ask about their conversation from the other night, to be certain that there were no awkward aftereffects from the Fourth of July. She had no reason not to take him at his word, of course; Noah was a straight shooter through and through. But at work, he could be such a closed book, even when they were alone after last call. He’d never let on that there was more between them than work and one hot night on the patio. And the cab of the truck—that was where kids made out.

If they were going to have an adult conversation, they’d have it in the living room like adults.

She finally closed the fridge empty handed, cutting off the spill of light into the darkened room. When she turned back to the living room, she found Noah holding the hefty glass ashtray that weighed down the coffee table. He turned the unwieldy thing over and over, his thick fingers moving in the grooves cut for cigarettes.

Gigi grinned and joined him on the couch. “It’s an ashtray,” she explained.

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I know. My uncle had one like this. I haven’t seen one in years.”

“Home décor secrets of the Seventies,” she said, watching as he set the ashtray back on the coffee table. “This is your uncle who was in Vietnam?”
He nodded. “My Uncle Tim.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” The question was out into the air between them before she could stop it, more personal than anything that had yet happened when they were alone.

In the soft light of streetlamps, his gaze found hers. “Yeah. He was my favorite uncle.” He leaned back on the couch. “My dad’s oldest brother. He was old enough to be drafted to go to Vietnam like a bunch of other guys. Dad worshiped my Uncle Tim when they were kids.” He smiled at her. “He said when people asked him what he wanted to be, he used to say he wanted to be Uncle Tim.”

Gigi laughed, and Noah shifted on the couch. His smile slowly faded into something harder.

“Anyway, he went to Vietnam and came back home. When he got off the plane, this gorgeous woman came up to him. My uncle thinks, hey, this is great, this woman wants to flirt with the man in uniform. He opens his mouth to say something to this girl. And she spits in his face and then turns around and walks off.”

Gigi felt her mouth drop open, weightless. He glanced up at her, sorrow darkening his features.

“Dad said Uncle Tim wasn’t the same after that. It was like someone had taken whatever he used to be and shattered it, and then he wasn’t able to find all the pieces.” He sighed. “When we went to visit him and my Aunt Joanie, they were always happy enough to see us. I could kind of see what my dad saw in him. But sometimes I’d look over at him when we were watching TV, and he’d be staring at the floor, almost like he was wondering what happened to him.” He laced his fingers and set them on his knee. “You know, we’re doing all this stuff for veterans now. Free drinks and all that. College girls who want to climb you like a tree. Which is great. All that is great. But no one wants to remember that, a little while ago, people would wait for soldiers to get off the plane so they could spit in their faces.”

The silence stretched and grew thick between them. In the dark, she could all but hear him breathing.

“You learn a lot in the Army, boss. You learn that everyone’s there, willing to put it all on the line, for a different reason.” He looked up to meet her gaze. “And I never met one person who went all the way to Afghanistan for free beer. But little things like that matter anyway.”

“You didn’t have to tell me all that,” she said.

He shrugged. “Your ashtray just reminded me.” A long sigh slid out of him. “I guess it’s been trapped in there for a while.”

She had to reach to pat his knee. Resisting this need to make contact with him proved harder than simply giving in.

His hand covered hers, setting her heart on a jig. More than the excitement she’d been trying to fight for so long, she ached with a new emotion. She felt safe. Like he’d opened this part of himself to her now and wanted to welcome her inside.

She stared at their joined hands, long enough for her skin to tingle. She knew he was watching her with the same intensity he reserved for potential trouble on the job, for anything that might not go as planned.

Yeah, this qualifies.

He shifted again on the couch, and she forced her eyes to meet his. His fingers twined with hers. A whirlwind pushed at her insides, fear and need and this forbidden excitement chasing each other around her heart.

He reached for her slowly, cupping her face in his large palm. His rough thumb stroked her cheek.

“What do you need right now, boss?”

Gigi found her breath. “You said this was whatever we said it was.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“So what are we saying it is?” she whispered.

He closed most of the distance between them, stopping just inches away from her. “What do you need it to be?”

She tried to yank her hand out of his but he tightened his grip. Frustrated beyond endurance, she turned her gaze up to the ceiling. “Jesus, Monroe.” She looked back at him and wanted to pull that smirk off his face. “Can you really not answer a simple question like that?”

He slid his fingertips up to her chin, gently tugged her toward him. Their knees touched when they kissed. His mouth coaxed hers, teasing her, making the spark she was trying to suppress into a hungry flame.

He pulled away from her and pressed his forehead to hers. “I want you like I want air to breathe.” The rough caress of his whisper made her catch her breath. “But Gigi, you make the rules.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, his lips lingering there. “You tell me. You tell me what you want.”

She wanted him. She wanted to see all of him and hear every sound he could make, and even if it never happened again, with him or anyone else, she wanted him tonight.

“The bedroom is at the end of the hall.” She pulled back and away from his embrace. “Go down there and strip.”

Without a word, he rose and headed down the hallway, peeling off his shirt as he went. She stood up on suddenly uncertain legs and slowly followed him.

Alexa Day is the USA Today bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with heroines who are anything but innocent. In her fictional worlds, strong, smart women discover excitement, adventure, and exceptional sex. A former bartender, one-time newspaper reporter, and licensed attorney, she likes her stories with just a touch of the inappropriate, and her literary mission is to stimulate the intellect and libido of her readers.

KRIS MICHAELS: Hi, Annabella! I have to gush for just a moment. I LOVE your writing. I’ve read every one of your books–twice, and I’m secretly doing a fan girl dance right now. So, while I settle down, why don’t you tell our audience a little something about yourself?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: I was born and raised in a small town near Cincinnati, Ohio. I’m 44 years old and I’ve been married to my high school sweetheart for 23 years. Together, we’ve raised two amazing kids. My daughter is in her third year of college, studying special education, and my son is a high school senior/sophomore in college, studying software engineering. Our home is a bit like a zoo at the moment because we have 3 cats, 3 dogs and 40 rabbits, which explains why I lock myself in my writing cave all the time. LOL

KRIS MICHAELS: When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: I’ve always been an avid reader, but I’d never really considered writing. Then one of my best friends started writing and she would often ask me my opinions on things, such as, what things I’d like to see in a story or what song the characters should dance to at their wedding, etc. It got my creative juices flowing and my own storyline started to unfold in my head. My friend encouraged me to give writing a try and to just write for my own enjoyment. So, I did and soon, I had taken off with an entire series.

KRIS MICHAELS: What drew you into writing romance?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: I’ve always loved romance stories. From the moment the characters feel that first spark, to the second they realize they can’t live without that person; I love it all. When I decided to give writing a try, there was no question in my mind that it would be romance.

KRIS MICHAELS: How long does it take you to write a book?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: It honestly depends on how much time I have to write and how well the characters are “speaking” to me. Generally, it takes me about a month to write everything and then another month to go through the editing process.

KRIS MICHAELS: Do you write full time? What is your work schedule like when you’re writing?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: I WISH! LOL. Hopefully someday soon, I’ll be able to write full time. I own another business and on the days I work there (usually 2-3 days/week), I’ll write in the evenings after I get home. All other days, including weekends, I write as much as possible. Luckily, I have a very patient and supportive family.

KRIS MICHAELS: What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: Okay, I’m not really sure if this is a quirk or just my being inept, but my family makes fun of this all the time. I can’t type. Like, AT ALL! I haven’t had to do it since my high school typing class, so I lost that skill over the years. I AM, however, an outstanding hen pecker. I’m really very fast at it and it’s how I’ve written all my books. Sometimes, though, I’ll be in the zone and just furiously pecking away and my kids will shout from the other room, “Can somebody, please open the door and let that chicken outside?” Haha! Did I mention they think they’re comedians?

KRIS MICHAELS: What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: READ!!! That’s the one thing I’ve missed since I started writing. I don’t have nearly the time to read that I used to have, but I do give myself 20 minutes to read each night before bed. It’s my way of unwinding and getting lost in someone else’s world.

KRIS MICHAELS: How many books have you written?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: There are 7 books in the Souls of Chicago series and I’m currently working on my eighth book, which is a spinoff from that series.

KRIS MICHAELS: What do you think makes a good story?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: For me, it would be lots of emotion. I enjoy sex scenes as much as the next person, but I love a story that makes me laugh, cry or get angry, right along with its characters. If a story has a lot of depth, then I care more about what happens to the characters and when those intimate scenes occur, it’s like I’m right there with them.

KRIS MICHAELS: As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

ANNABELLA MICHAELS: I wanted to be a child psychologist and actually started out majoring in psychology in college. Then I found something else that was a better fit for me, and that’s what I do when I’m not writing.

KRIS MICHAELS: If I stranded you on a mountain top for a year in a cabin, with everything but internet or entertainment provided, and told you only had access to three author’s books, which authors would you read?

KRIS MICHAELS: Thank you so much for taking the time to visit with us today. If you love wonderful character driven romances with deep emotion, check out Annabella’s Soul’s of Chicago Series. I highly recommend it!

~~~~~

Found is part of the Hamilton’s Heroes series.

Book blurb:

As a former U.S.A.F. Pararescueman, Jeremy O’Brien is used to following orders, no questions asked. So, when Micah, his boss at Hamilton Security, asks him to take on a special case, he readily accepts. Micah’s instructions are simple, find the man in the picture and bring him back to Chicago.

Seven years ago, Zane Wilkinson left the hospital against doctor’s orders, only to suffer a final, devastating blow that left him with no choice but to leave the only place he’d called home. Feeling heartbroken and empty, Zane moved from town to town just trying to survive, while never letting anyone get too close.

In a chance encounter, Jeremy finds himself crossing paths with a man who fits Zane’s description. His instincts tell him that he’s on to something, but Micah warns him that he needs to be absolutely sure. Jeremy sets a plan in motion that will allow him to get closer to the man he believes to be Zane. However, the closer he gets, the more he likes the man and begins to question why he was sent to find him.

Will Jeremy be able to follow through with his orders without becoming too attached? Or will he realize that in his search for Zane, he’s found so much more than he bargained for?

Excerpt:

The ache in my chest was something new. I’d never felt so much pain for someone else, but seeing him hurting actually caused my heart to hurt. Without thinking, I reached over and took his hand. He stiffened at first and I kept my hand loose, giving him the option if he wanted to pull away, but after a few seconds I felt him tighten his grip, just a fraction. We stayed that way, with his hand in mine, the rest of the drive. I stared out my window, trying to figure out what was happening to me.

I was no stranger to developing bonds with other people. After all, I’d been very close with my mom, and I’d even had the occasional boyfriend before. The men I’d served with in the Air Force and the guys I worked with at Hamilton security were like brothers to me. I trusted each of them with my life and they trusted me with theirs. Yet, sitting in that truck, holding his hand was the most connected I’d ever felt to another human being.

What had started out as a simple attraction was quickly becoming more, at least for me. How much more, I couldn’t say. Logically, I knew that getting involved with him was reckless, but I was also helpless to stop it. I still didn’t know why Micah wanted him brought to Chicago, or if he was in fact Zane. For all I knew, he could be wanted by the police, possibly as a hacker or a drug dealer, although my instincts told me that he wasn’t a criminal.

Regardless of all the unknowns, two things were perfectly clear: the man sitting beside me affected me more than anyone I’d ever met in my life and, reckless or not, I wanted to get to know him better.

I am married to my high school sweetheart who let’s face it, is a saint for putting up with me all of these years. Together we have been blessed with the chance to raise two amazing human beings and so far we haven’t screwed it up; I’ll let you know for sure later. I am a business owner and spend more time laughing than actually working most days. I love watching movies, cooking, going to the beach and spending time with my family and best friends. I am an obsessive reader who is a complete sucker for a good love story, but loves to feel a broad range of emotions throughout a book. I think real life is hard enough and so my books offer twists and turns, but always with a happy ending.

Chloe Addison is on the verge of a promising career in real estate development until an explosion destroys her first major project and casts suspicion on her in an arson investigation. Her career is suddenly at risk—and possibly her life.

Firefighter Ryan Monroe wants a spot on the arson team, and getting close to Chloe might be the best way to solve his first investigation. Despite a painful past of his own, Ryan has dedicated himself to saving people, and when he realizes Chloe is in danger, she’s no exception. He just might be the perfect guy to rescue her, but their attraction could bring them both down in flames.

Book excerpt:

Ryan was greeted by a loud shout of “Surprise!” from the members of the firehouse, some of whom weren’t even on shift. Black, red, and gold balloons created a centerpiece on the dining table next to a chocolate-frosted sheet cake, fully ablaze with birthday candles. Even Max sported a cone-shaped paper birthday hat.

Ryan barely saw any of it. His attention was fixed on Chloe, standing at the far end of the long table in a white blouse and a gray skirt and the high heels he loved because when she wore them, he didn’t have to bend quite so far to kiss her. Her long hair fell in loose waves around that beautiful face he couldn’t get enough of. He went straight to her as the guys broke out in a rousing—though horrendously off-key—rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

He planted his hands on her waist. “You did this?” he asked.

She gripped his arms and shrugged with a mischievous smile.

He dipped her backward and pressed his mouth over hers, eliciting hoots and catcalls from the rest of the crew.

“Come on,” Sullivan yelled. “Are we gonna have to turn the hoses on you two? Blow out these candles before we have to get our gear out.”

Ryan pulled Chloe back to her feet with a laugh and threw his arm around her before leaning over the cake and extinguishing the flames. He turned and kissed her again.

“Look at that, I got my wish,” he said. He gazed down at her—mesmerized by those huge green eyes—and marveled at the way she’d seamlessly worked her way in among the crew at the firehouse. She belonged here. The realization might have hit him like a punch in the gut if it hadn’t felt so damned right.

Cooper gave Ryan a slap on the back. “This one’s a keeper, buddy.”

Ryan chuckled, still staring dreamily at Chloe. “Yes, she is.”

He pulled out a chair for her as the crew settled in at the table for a batch of Cooper’s five-alarm chili. “Can you stay for a while?”

Before she could answer or take a seat, Jeremy appeared at Ryan’s side. “Go borrow my office, dude.”

Ryan caught the look of confusion on Chloe’s face that must have rivaled his own. “What are you talking about?”

Ryan glanced at Chloe and then swept an observant glance around the room. The crew was much more interested in lunch than they were in what he and Chloe were up to. She giggled at his side, seemingly ready to go along with whatever he decided.

She was perfect.

He grinned wickedly as he grabbed her hand, and she let out a little gasp before he led her to the stairs and the administrative department on the third floor. As the door to Jeremy’s office swung closed behind them, he cupped her face in his hands for an unrelenting kiss. He reached over to lock the door before doing it again.

“I thought he was joking,” she said, breaking away from him. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“A firehouse is one of the safest places you can be, babe.” His mouth crashed over hers once more, and his tongue claimed victory as he eased her backward and lifted her onto Jeremy’s desk.

She laughed, the sound muffled by his kiss. “What if someone comes in?”

“Door’s locked,” he whispered as he slid his lips to her neck. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. The whole party thing.”

“I know I didn’t have to do it.” A sigh escaped her as he teased the delicate skin below her ear, and she clung to his waist to steady herself. “I wanted to.”

He slipped his fingers beneath her sweater, running them over the warm skin of her back. Her body arched toward his chest and she thrust her hands into his hair.
God, he loved it when she did that.

“Should I even ask how you pulled that off?”

“Jeremy,” she replied with another little gasp when he popped the clasp of her bra.

“Jeremy helped me. I had him send me a text when you were on your way back from your last call. I brought the balloons and the cake, but he got everyone in on it.”

He chuckled as his tongue traced her collarbone, her skin vibrating beneath him with a soft moan. He hiked her skirt up and pushed between her legs, with his knees bent to give him the right angle to grind against her core.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “What if you get called to a fire?”

He leaned back, his eyes raking over her as he prepared to devour her. “Let it burn.”

With an overactive imagination and a slightly twisted mind, Dawn Altieri has been scribbling stories practically since birth. When she’s not curled up on the sofa with her laptop, her latest story, a box of chocolates and a cup of tea (or a glass of wine, depending on the time of day), she can be found volunteering in the world of animal rescue. She shares her home with her husband and daughter, and a menagerie of rescued fur-babies.

A competition between one woman’s heart and her head — with her future on the line.

The Bachelorette
Alyssa Carlisle arrives home for the holidays nursing a fresh Christmas Eve heartbreak. A hookup with her hot neighbor seems like the perfect rebound. He’s never looked her way, but Marc De Luna’s just what she needs: a no-strings attached, super sexy vacation fling.

She never thought he’d want more.

The (Play) Boy Next Door
Marc’s had it bad for his aloof, ambitious neighbor ever since her family moved in. Her engagement to a rich boyfriend was enough to send him packing for an extended trip — anywhere — as long as it’s far away from any reminder of Alyssa. Now that he’s is out of the picture, Marc ‘s not about to pass up his chance to claim her as his own.

When her ex makes an unexpected appearance, Marc’s got a fight on his hands — and he’ll do whatever it takes to win.

Excerpt:

“I ought to let my family know I’m still alive. I disappeared last night.”

“Oh, they know,” Marc replied, kissing her forehead as he pulled her into his arms. “My mom texted me this morning saying she was worried about you. I told her you’re with me. I’m sure they’re planning the wedding already.”

Alyssa buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, fuck. This is going to be awkward.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He went quiet. “Listen, you said something yesterday about being here for the week. I’m not looking for a week.”

Alyssa’s heart sank. Great. He might have another girl lined up already.

Marc kissed her temple. “Aly, I don’t want you thinking I do this with just anyone. I’d given that up ages ago.”

She nodded, though didn’t believe him any more than she believed in the Easter Bunny. His own mother had once commented that Marc treated girls like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Alyssa had seen plenty of women lining up to be brunch over the years, and she hadn’t lived here in almost ten years.

“Flattery will get you anywhere with me,” she replied flippantly, grinning. Marc was a genuinely considerate guy, the polar opposite of Zach. She hadn’t gotten to know him because she’d always been so intent on avoiding her hot neighbor.

Alyssa quit resisting her base instincts and kissed him in the sunshine as if they were the only two people in the world, her pale skin contrasting sharply with his dark tan. Probably ought to think about sunscreen, eventually.

His fingers threaded through her hair, setting it free to whip around her face. In response, Alyssa tugged his shirt over his head.

“No fair.” He responded by pulling up the shirt he’d loaned her. Alyssa shrugged it aside. He cupped her breasts with his big hands. Then he took one in his mouth and nibbled gently on the tip. Alyssa sighed and curved against him.

When he thumbed open the button on the shorts he’d loaned her, she slid off his lap and kicked them off. Marc had pulled off his shirt and quickly discarded the rest of his clothes before rolling on a condom.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

She nodded. Naked, Alyssa slid over him, her body extra-sensitive from the night before. Marc was as good as his word, moving slowly and focused on everything except where their bodies were joined. He let her set the pace. She was too sore to take his entire cock at first, but the more he teased and touched everything above her waist, the more her body accepted. They found their pleasure with no audience but the sun, the sea, and the sky.

An hour later, Marc steered the sailboat into its slip at the marina. They held hands as they strolled to his truck. When she asked about it, he told her he’d caught a ride with his brother to his parents’ house the day before.

Alyssa fidgeted with the shirt hem sticking out from the seatbelt. The loaner clothes were as good as a billboard about where she’d gone and what she’d been doing. Yet there was no point in trading them for her wrinkled dress, since last night wasn’t exactly a secret. The knowledge didn’t help her shoulders stay straight or calm her pounding heart as Marc parked on the street between their driveways, as though staking out a space in the middle of their families.

He took her hand. “We’ll go in together. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah, I know.” She squeezed his hand back. There was no reason for nerves. Yet she stepped out with an unshakable sense of foreboding.

A breeze coursed through the cab of the truck. Her dress fluttered like a captive butterfly on its hanger behind her. The screen door of her parents’ house opened.

Her eyes narrowed at the man-shape. In a flash her stomach iced over. No, it can’t be.

“What the fuck is this?” Zach, her ex, exploded. The screen door jumped back on its hinges.

Alyssa cringed but stood her ground. “What are you doing here?”

“We were supposed to celebrate our engagement with your family this week, remember? I changed my ticket.”

Carrie Lomax grew up in the Midwest before moving to New York City for 15 years. She lives in Maryland with two budding readers and her real-life romantic hero. Hit her up to find out what else she has in the works: carrie@carrielomax.com

]]>https://ladysmut.com/2017/12/24/sexy-sunday-snippet-a-christmas-dramedy-by-carrie-lomax/feed/0isabelledrakeCarrieLomax_HolidayHeatCoverSexy Sunday Snippet: Must Love Fashion by Deborah Garlandhttps://ladysmut.com/2017/12/17/sexy-sunday-snippet-must-love-fashion-by-deborah-garland/
https://ladysmut.com/2017/12/17/sexy-sunday-snippet-must-love-fashion-by-deborah-garland/#respondSun, 17 Dec 2017 14:57:04 +0000http://ladysmut.com/?p=21621Holiday cheers to us all! This week we have a snippet from Deborah Garland’s Must Love Fashion, Book 1 in her Darling Cove series.

About the book:

Escape into the exciting world of fashion where Andrew Morgan, a former male model turned brand manager meets his match in Gwendolyn Mallory, a beautiful small town public relations specialist he doesn’t think he needs.

She was hired to turn the fashion world upside down…not his.

Go behind the scenes as Gwen sets out to prove she has what it takes to promote a prestigious brand like Prada. Andrew is already struggling to accept his PR responsibilities have been taken away from him, but the intense attraction he has for Gwen is just plain getting in the way of rational thinking—sleeping with a co-worker has always been on his to-don’t list. But Gwen challenges everything Andrew believes about love and relationships as he puts aside his heartbreaking past to have the woman he never knew he needed.

Follow the sparkling fuse slowly burning with sexual tension as Gwen brings to life a sexy devil…who just happens to wear Prada.

Excerpt:

Andrew’s expression settled into a contemplative stare. He inched closer. “As long as we’re talking about former employers, I’ll tell you something about me that only Enrico knows.”

Gwen’s mouth was open the entire time she listened to him reveal his secret past as a male model. It wasn’t hard to imagine. He was the perfect specimen of a man. Tall, broad shoulders, prominent cheek bones and full lips. “Is that why you asked me what I thought about male models?”

And if Starlight had designed male thongs and Andrew was one of her models…

“Self-consciously, yes. It’s something…I’m proud of but also ashamed of at times.”

“Being rewarded because you’re tall and beautiful is—” She quickly looked away. I just called him beautiful. Licking her dry lips, she finished. “I mean…having someone think you’re good enough to show off their clothes is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thank you.” His head had lowered but his dark eyes were glued to her.

“Thank you for confiding in me,” she responded humbly. Her head was spinning and not because of the wine.

“We’re a team, right?” Andrew had become a different person. He was speaking to her like…a friend. An entirely different side of the man had emerged.

“Absolutely.” She clinked his glass again.

Andrew smoothed his tie and sat up straight. “Speaking of being a team, Enrico said you asked to be moved to an office on the designer floor.”

Her cheeks blazed with heat. She’d almost forgotten about the request. So this was business. Not pleasure. She took a breath. “It’s hard to share an office. No matter what the circumstances.”

“I’d really rather you not sit on the designer floor.”

She leaned in. “Why?”

“That floor is chaotic. I can’t think straight when I’m down there.”

“I think it’s kind of fun. Lots of energy. It’ll be like watching Project Runway every day, all day.” She wiggled her shoulders, letting her passion show through. “I love the creative process. Seeing them take a bolt of fabric and with a few clips of the scissors and stabs of the sewing machine needle…voila! A dress. It’s really quite fascinating.” She paused and sat back, staring into her wine to avoid eye contact. “Besides, you can’t like me being in your office”

“Actually, I do.”

She looked up, startled by the confession.

He pressed his fingers together. “I thought it would be annoying. But you’re pleasant enough to be around.”

Pleasant enough… Oh yeah, Mr. Morgan, talk dirty to me. “I have to be honest though, the mess and clutter that I have to look at every day, is kind of getting to me.”

“I’ll work on that. I promise.” He finished his beer and took out his wallet. “You’re not going to be happy listening to Salvatore yell all day, trust me.”

“Yeah, but it’s mostly in Italian.” Her finger nails scraped the bottom of the pretzel bowl. It was empty again and she was too embarrassed to ask for another refill.

“Thank goodness…I’m sure if it was English, we’d have dozens of lawsuits on our hands.”

He was keeping her away from Salvatore to protect the company from a lawsuit. How very…corporate of him. She shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. At least until the fashion show, deal?”

“Deal.” His lips agreed but his eyes said maybe.

Her phone buzzed and vibrated. It was Greg again. She dumped it in her bag. She didn’t want him or her father to worry, but she was an adult. An adult who was allowed to go out after work and come home late.

Deborah Garland is a versatile author of women’s fiction, contemporary and paranormal romances. Her books are about love and the struggles of complicated relationships. The heroines are strong and witty and the heroes fall hard for them.

She lives on the North Shore of Long Island with her husband and two pugs, Zoe and Harley. And when she’s not writing, you can find her on a bar stool on a Friday night with a Grey Goose cosmopolitan, listening to her husband tell her the same stories over and over.

Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 3 week continues here at Lady Smut! If you missed it, we ran a very sexy excerpt from strangers turned lovers story “The Skin of Someone Else” by Charlotte Stein yesterday. Today I have the honor of sharing an excerpt from a writer Lady Smutters are familiar with: Thien-Kim Lam, who’s making her erotica publishing debut with her sex toys and oral sex story “Body Shots.”

Not only that, but she’s reading along with me, Sommer Marsden and Lynn Townsend on Tuesday, February 13, 2018 at 7 p.m. at independent bookstore Politics and Prose at The Wharf in Washington, DC! If you’re in the area or know anyone who is who’d like some sexy Valentine’s Day stories read to them by the authors alone with the chance to ask us anything about erotica writing, please tell them to join us. (Side note: I rarely brave the cold in the winter but to hear and meet my amazing authors and share hot stories and at an amazing bookstore right on the water, I will!)

Out now in ebook and print!

Without further ado, here’s a sexy Best Women’s Erotica snippet from “Body Shots” by Thien-Kim Lam, in which couple Kit and Tre are enjoying an intimate evening where she’s turned him into a “human bar” and is tasting her way along his delicious offerings:

The first item in that box is currently in his hand. A gentle push of its buttons gives her a roller coaster ride of pleasure mixed with frustration. Underneath that remote had lain the cuffs. Her orgasms are literally in his hands. All evening, he’s kept her right on the edge of climax. He refuses to give her the satisfaction she desperately craves.

She jumps to attention as the vibrator comes to life once more.

“The tequila is getting warm. I know how much you hate hot shots.” He chuckles at his own joke.

Ignoring his pun, she slowly shuffles her knees closer to him, his body radiating with the intoxicating musk of arousal. If she could, she’d rip off the cuffs so her tongue could lick wherever she pleased.

But she doesn’t want to rip them off. She dangles right on the edge of ultimate pleasure and desperate need. Chest heaving. Legs trembling with need. Thighs glistening with arousal. She is exactly where she wants to be.

Slowly, she drags her knees closer to his belly button. Each micromovement causes her nipples to rub against the textured leather. Her concentration fights against the unpredictable pulses between her thighs. Kit is too close to winning to give in now.

Her tongue brushes against her lips and catches a stray salt crystal. Its metallic tang reaffirms her purpose. Once again, her tongue darts out toward the trail.

Never before have little bits of salt provided so much motivation. Starting at his belly button, the salt follows down the line of curls inching past his waist. The grains float on top of his tight curls, not quite ready to surrender to his skin.

Her eyes travel where her tongue cannot.

Can you say HOT?

Read all of “Body Shots” plus 20 other brand new super sexy stories in Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 3, available in ebook for Kindle (all countries), Nook, Google Play, iBooks and Kobo, or the print edition from Amazon, Bn.com, independent bookstore Powell’s or your local independent bookstore via IndieBound. Please follow us at @BWEoftheyear on Twitter and on Facebook for news, giveaways, calls for submissions for future volumes and more. And if you read the book and would like to share a review, that’s very much appreciated and helps guide me in selecting stories for upcoming volumes in the series.

About Thien-Kim Lam:Thien-Kim Lam writes erotic multiracial romances exploding with delectable delights. When she needs a break from imagining new places for her heroine to hide her battery-operated toys, she guzzles Vietnamese iced coffee and bakes her feelings. Visit BawdyBookworms.com for reading recommendations and pleasure pairings while you wait for her debut novel.

About the book:Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 3 delivers the kind of sexy stories you want most: daring, bold, and surprising tales of women who pursue their boundless passions anywhere and everywhere. Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, winner of multiple Independent Publishing Book Awards, these scintillating scenarios turn the tables on how women are “supposed” to behave. Instead, these uninhibited vixens indulge in their favorite fetishes, do deliciously intimate “Body Shots,” and get tied up with “Red Satin Ribbons.” They pose nude, dress up, and roleplay, always obeying their most exhilarating impulses. These lusty ladies take your most cherished, private fantasies—from making a sex tape, to taking part in a thrilling threesome, to having a stud delivered to your door hot and ready—and make them come alive. Written by beloved authors Abigail Barnette, Annabel Joseph, and Charlotte Stein along with several genre newcomers, these are erotic encounters you’ll want to savor again and again and again…

Background: In this excerpt, Cai and Rand are camping in the forest, where Cai has been watching over Rand while the wolf shifter is healing from a hunter’s bullet. At the beginning of this excerpt, Rand is in his wolf form.

“Been doing a little reading,” the vampire said conversationally, though his gaze was on the chained Rand, tracking his every movement. Cai squatted on his heels a short distance away, forearms loosely braced on his knees, thumb and middle finger of one hand flicking in idle, unconscious movement. Rand changed position, four feet braced as he faced off with the vampire.

“Went into town to snag the chain and collar, and raided the local library for the shifter stuff. Figured a lot of it was going to be complete bullshit, same as it is for vampires, though they do get some things right, like the darkness and blood.” Cai lifted a book that was on the ground by his side. Rand flattened his ears in response, not sure of the intent of the movement until Cai laid it down again.

*It’s a damn book. Think.* He could shift his mind to think like a human while in wolf form, if he focused. He just usually preferred not to do so.

“A few stories say if a shifter stays in his animal form for too long, he’ll be stuck that way forever,” Cai continued in that same annoying, persistent tone. “I expect most shifters would consider that a warning, something to be avoided. For someone who seeks oblivion and to forget the human side of things, I expect it would be really damn appealing. So I was thinking…”

Cai rose and sauntered over to a nearby tree, taking a seat beneath it. “The best way to combat that kind of urge is to remind the shifter what’s appealing about the human form. And I don’t know a male in the world who won’t act in the best interest of his dick.”

With deceptive casualness, he unbuckled his belt, left it dangling as he pulled open the top button of his jeans. Working the zipper down with the pressure of his fist, he curled it around the cock he revealed, since he wore no underwear. “I think you’re up to the reminder, and I’m done waiting. I’ll be gentle, but I want that ass.”

Rand fought his human side, tried to push it back, but his eyes locked onto the vampire’s movements as he settled in to jack himself off. One knee was bent, the other rocked out wide as he slowly pumped his member and considered Rand. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Rand’s attention was all over him, the vampire’s scent filling his nose, fueling his hunger. The vampire was right. His body was healed enough for his cock to be stupid.

Vampire arrogance was even farther off the charts than he’d heard. Rand told himself that, even as his eyes clung to what Cai’s hand was doing, and his body trembled on that precipice, the human male inside the wolf wanting, and wanting badly. It had been so long…

“All you have to do to get it, and to get out of that collar, is come back to human form.” Cai lifted his free hand and waggled the thumb. “Useful for unfastening buckles. Or unhooking chains, if you like the feel of the collar I put on you enough to keep wearing it.”

That outrageous statement came with an infuriating, quick grin. It showed the tip of the vampire’s fangs, both the real and the metal one. Rand had never heard of a vampire missing one fang. He didn’t want to be curious. Didn’t want to care.

Cai’s gaze slid down as he fingered his belt with his free hand. “If you shift to human, I could strip this off and use it on your fine ass, punish you for causing me so much work.”

Rand backed up, moved sideways, fought the chain again. He let the rage have him. The chain creaked enough to have the vampire’s brow rising, which was gratifying, but it still held. The pain in his side built to fire. Rand would embrace it until he passed out, taking him away from a decision he couldn’t afford. He didn’t want to feel. Why wouldn’t the vampire leave it alone?

He snarled as the vampire was suddenly on his feet and behind him, arms banded around his throat and the barrel of Rand’s chest, holding him up on his hind legs.

“You aggravate that wound again, and I will fucking tie all your feet together,” Cai breathed against his ear. The threat sent a shiver of sensation through Rand’s body. “I’m glad I assumed you were at least as strong as I am. I’ve reinforced that chain with something you can’t fight. It’s cheating, yeah, but I want a level playing field. Come fight me, man to man. Shift.”

Rand snapped at him, but the vampire stayed out of reach, his hold tightening. “If you don’t,” the vampire promised, “I’ll prove how little of a moral code I’ve got. I’ll shove my dick up your wolf’s ass.”

The idea was so repellent to Rand, he almost shifted then and there, but he pushed back the reaction for another few minutes to prove the vampire couldn’t order him around or threaten him into doing his will. The problem was his human part wanted what the vampire was offering. The lust, strong and heated, surprised him, but the vampire had kept that need kindled over these past few days, hadn’t he? Rand recalled it in quick flashes; a hand passing over his face, his chest, a wet cloth bathing his genitals…

He shifted, fur becoming flesh. The vampire moved with him, more smoothly than seemed possible with the quick, snapping convulsions that accompanied a swift shift. However, when Rand was done, he was still securely in the vampire’s hold. He fought him to be free and this time he won, twisting out of the vampire’s grip and backpedaling away, catching himself before he tripped. He had a momentary impression of the vampire’s hands slipping away, and realized the male had had one palm molded over the wound in Rand’s side to protect it.

The collar was loose on his neck now, but as Rand reached for it, he hit a field he couldn’t get through. He couldn’t even curl his fingers over the darn thing and try to pull it over his head, which he should have been able to do, since the wolf’s neck and ruff was far thicker than his own.

Magic. He couldn’t read the shape of it, but it was obvious that was what it was. He hadn’t imagined that healing wash of heat after all. The damn male was a magic user and a vampire. Something Rand had never heard of, but his knowledge of vampires was far from complete.

Regardless, it made the vampire double the trouble and annoyance.

Cai’s fangs flashed in a grim smile. But as he moved in on Rand, Rand closed his hand over the chain, and realized he could touch that, even if he couldn’t unhook it from the collar. The flash of *oh shit* in the vampire’s eyes was mildly gratifying as Rand dodged past him and employed the chain as a weapon.

He just about clotheslined him. Cai ducked under the chain. He’d had the presence of mind to refasten his jeans so vulnerable things weren’t hanging in the breeze, but Rand’s body was still torqued by the erotic display of rippling muscle and grace as the vampire entered a warrior’s dance with him, up and forward, around. Near pins, missed punches. Twisting, grappling, the chain clanking and the vampire dodging away and out of range before Rand could get Cai tangled in it. Then he closed back in again.

They were like a mirror, anticipating one another too well. Twisting. It occurred to Rand that, thanks to the second mark, Cai was in his head, and if he could follow Rand’s thoughts that fast, he’d stay ahead of Rand, get the advantage. Except Rand used instinct, not thought, and that leveled the playing field.

Then Cai got him pinned against a tree. Rand plunged a fist into his gut that knocked him back. It made the vampire swear, and emit an odd half chuckle. Then the fight got serious.

Damn it, Rand was tiring out. But he wasn’t going to stop fighting. Maybe the vampire figured that out, because suddenly he was outside the ring of combat, just beyond the chain’s length. He stood there, studying Rand, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Fucking hell,” he murmured. “That was fun.”

It had been…stimulating. Rand’s hands closed into fists. He didn’t want to feel that way. Didn’t want to think about his cock being hard and stiff against his belly, and the vampire noticing it with avid eyes. Cai was just as worked up under his jeans, ready to go.

“Let me go,” Rand growled.

Cai considered, then dipped his head, a short nod. He walked toward Rand, easy, casual, as if they hadn’t just been grappling like enemy combatants. His clear blue eyes were intent on Rand’s, yet seeming to cover every inch of skin at the same time, lingering on Rand’s mouth as he arrived toe-to-toe with him.

“Promise not to run. Let yourself have this, wolf. You want me, I want you. It can be that simple.”

Rand closed his eyes. He wasn’t promising anything, but he wasn’t moving, either. As he stood there for several dozen heartbeats, everything seemed to move in the forest except the air around them, a silent cocoon.

The vampire’s palm rested on his chest, molded over his pectoral, stroked his biceps, the taut nipple. Rand drew in a breath. It had been so damn long…

Cai lifted his touch to the collar. Rand felt a tingle, a release of energy that he recognized as the light coating of heat he’d felt over his shoulders and upper chest when he roused to eat. He’d thought it was a lingering symptom of his injuries.

As the magic dissipated, Cai’s hands closed over the collar. He unbuckled it, the attached chain clinking, his fingertips whispering over Rand’s throat. The leather smell, the stroke of the strap leaving his flesh and replaced by the vampire’s fingers, made Rand’s body tighten. The collar and chain dropped to the ground with a louder clank. Cai’s palm covered the healing scar on his side, one of the knife wounds.

“If you’d stayed human more than a minute at a time,” the vampire said, “I could have kept a bandage on your wounds with some topical that would have helped them heal faster.”

“Didn’t need a nurse.” Rand opened his eyes and flashed an angry look at him.

The vampire slid a rough palm down the center of his back, slow, exploring. Rand closed his eyes again. Fine. Cai wasn’t Dylef, Rand’s former mate, but Rand wasn’t that maudlin. He wasn’t betraying Dylef. It was sex. Just sex, and he could enjoy it without giving it more significance than that. The vampire sure as hell wouldn’t.

“Sex done right doesn’t need a lot of sentiment attached to it, wolf,” Cai said. “The value of a thing for what it is, not what we think it should be.”

*Or wish it could be.* Rand let out a sigh that was half wolf, half man. He couldn’t do anything about the vampire being in his mind, either. Might as well enjoy pure sensation. The vampire was good at this. Creatures of the night, seductive and mesmerizing. He caressed, stroked, learned the lines of Rand’s body, brought every inch of flesh to life. Doing no more than stroking Rand’s shoulders, back, hips. When he reached Rand’s ass, Cai turned his hand over so his knuckles glided over his buttocks, the seam between them.

“You could bounce rocks off this work of art. All that running, I expect. Do you like to run, Rand? It’s an animal thing, stretching out over the ground, going faster and faster, connecting to the elements as you do it. Feeling the wind, the earth beneath you, the sky above.”

He wanted to do it right now, merely from the images Cai was planting, but Cai’s hand closed over his buttock, a hard grip that snagged Rand’s attention fully again.

“Stay with me. I’ll give you a different way to feel like you’re flying.”

He didn’t say it like a boast. A simple assertion of fact. Cai nudged his knee. “Spread these apart.”

It was a command, which raised Rand’s hackles, but as Cai’s hand slid down between his legs from behind, he complied, and swallowed a growl as the vampire captured his testicles in a strong, kneading grip. His fingertips whispered over the base of Rand’s hardening cock.

“There you are. Fuck, you are a treasure.” Cai clasped Rand’s hip with the other hand. The vampire’s possessive hold on his balls resulted in a surge of further desire.

“Do you like pain and restraint, wolf? Are shifters more conservative and vanilla, or do you like taking that animal dominance and submission into darker waters, same as vampires do?”

Whereas vampires stayed in the shadows, wolf shifters were the shadows. But they kept tabs on their non-human brethren, like vampires. Wolves learned about their competitors in the predator world as much as they could. In addition to the information about their speed and strength had come other rumors. How deep and brutal their sexual tastes ran.

And that they were insatiable.

“No,” Rand said, to cover all angles of the question. But he needn’t have said anything, since he suspected his mind revealed some of it. He hadn’t thought of such things, and it hadn’t been part of his life before. Well, not beyond how they manifested in a wolf’s normal makeup, as Cai had pointed out. But the things that woke to life when the vampire threatened to mark his ass, or drove him to his knees, were confusing but undeniable. Darker, deeper parts of what was already in Rand’s mind. A desire for pain, punishment and pleasure, so strong everything else would be swept away. Every agony of the heart too great too bear.

He pushed that away, too, put it back on a physical footing. It was likely the vampire allure, opening their prey’s minds to possibilities they wouldn’t normally entertain.

“No, you don’t do pain and restraints, and no, wolves aren’t more conservative.” Cai chuckled, a sound that cinched around Rand’s cock like a leash, jerking it to attention. “Or simply no, to tell me we’re not having that conversation.”

“Wolves don’t talk this much during fucking.”

“No, I don’t expect they do.” Cai gripped Rand’s buttocks, spreading them, and rubbed his cock in the channel. Rand’s muscles tightened, a ripple going through his arms and shoulders. He was standing there, rigid, but like a tree, he was starting to sway.

“You’re tiring, and I don’t want to wear you out,” the vampire said mildly. “So how about we make this one straightforward. But I like all the directions your mind goes when I touch you, wolf. We’ll have to explore that.”

“I’m not hanging around long enough for a guided tour.”

Cai made a noncommittal noise, and then his grip tightened, his body pressed flush against Rand’s, shoulders to cock to knees. “Go down for me, wolf. All fours. Your favorite position.”

Rand would have locked his knees, but Cai didn’t force it. He nudged, with one knee and the temptation of his cock teasing against Rand’s ass, and another quiet whisper. The words were almost unintelligible, but the meaning clear enough, especially since he let Rand hear it in his head.

*I’ll make it feel good. Simple and easy.*

Rand let his knees give, and when he was on them, dropping to his palms, the vampire delivered. He used his saliva to lube Rand’s opening and his cock, too, he expected, since he felt the vampire working his shaft in his hand as he rubbed against Rand’s ass.

*I’ll bet you have something else to ease my way, coming out of that hard cock of yours. Let me have it.*

Rand gripped himself, slipping his curled fist over his cockhead and finding the pre-come there that Cai had anticipated. His erection was substantial, so he didn’t know why his own response surprised him. Mixed emotions held him as he reached back, palm open and up, and Cai’s strong grip closed over his wrist.

He held Rand’s palm steady as he rubbed his cock over Rand’s damp palm and fingers. It really didn’t add a lot, but it shoved the arousal factor up another two or three notches. Then Cai released him to guide his cock, slippery enough from the combined lubrication, into Rand’s opening. He nudged, playing, teasing, until Rand was pushing back against Cai, frustrated.

“Be still, wolf,” Cai said mildly. “Or I’ll put you on your elbows and show you who’s boss.”

Rand snorted, and Cai answered with one of those sensual chuckles. But the moment of humor disappeared, swallowed by darker, needier things. *Do it. Just do it.* Cai’s hands were all over him, kneading and squeezing his ass, running along his back, his sides, learning him, appreciating him. Enjoying more than just his cock.

Too close to intimacy. Things were growing too hard to manage inside of Rand, making it hard to breathe. He was about to throw the vampire off, start that battle once again…

Cai thrust through both sets of ass muscles, seating himself with a hum of satisfaction. Rand bit back a groan at his traitorous cock’s leap of satisfaction. Maybe because he wasn’t a hundred percent healed, maybe because the vampire put pressure on him he didn’t recognize until it happened, Rand found himself on his elbows. But as they dug into the ground, the anchor and angle took the other male deeper, filling him up. Cai set both hands to his hips.

“Nice,” he purred. He bent close over Rand’s back, his breath caressing Rand’s spine, and fangs scraped over his flesh. The wound in Rand’s side was starting to burn again, and Cai noticed.

“Does it hurt, wolf? Hurt too much?”

From the rumors Rand had heard, that would only turn the vampire on more. Cai chuckled.

“Sometimes,” the vampire acknowledged. “But that’s not the right kind. That’s the type that causes me more work and makes you a one-time fuck, and I want far more out of this fine ass than that.”

Rand snarled and pushed back against him, a message itself. Cai chuckled. “Long as I don’t take too long about things, you don’t care, right? You won’t get to shorten things between us in the future, wolf. But today, I’ll be merciful.”

Mercy had a different definition to vampires, apparently. Cai started thrusting again, but he paced himself, making Rand ride that edge of pain from his injuries while building him up to a mind-boggling arousal. Cai was taking Rand toward orgasm, but at his own pace, until Rand was held away from it by little more than a breath. If this was shortening things, an actual full health fuck with a vampire might be life-threatening.

Cai teased him, spoke to him in that low, sensual voice, saying things that Rand should have ignored, shouldn’t have affected him at all. But his body responded to the words as much as he did to the fucking. The male had a way with words, and a substantial cock, and he knew what to do with both. He could wield the latter like a damn blunt instrument or a precision tool. A power tool, for damn sure.

Cai’s additional chuckle made Rand’s ears burn. Fuck, he needed to remember the vampire was in his head.